What did it all mean? I canít really say. Maybe it meant, as Steve so
that "at the core of a man lies a thorn of rebellion and we needed
a good scoff, a dare, a sneer that says ĎBack off, world. Today there
will be no mowing.í" Maybe it meant we had to prove we were still
rebels at heart. Maybe we just felt like taking a road trip.
it meant that for every job, no matter how pointless and stupid, thereís
someone out there willing to do it.
It was fun. I got to meet and hang out with a fellow journaler whom
I admire quite a bit. We compared notes on husbandry and fatherhood,
spoke of hopes and fears, swapped drinking and not-drinking stories,
came up with a workable solution for world peace, and generally talked
a damn good talk. I admire Steve all the more now, especially after
hearing how he shot a man named Reno just to eat his pie. Or something
I got to
listen to new music and talk good talk and eat at Dennyís without Beth
rolling her eyes. I got to pretend I needed to lock my hubs. I got out
of the house. Best of all, I got a weird story to tell, one that earns
me puzzled sidelong glances from people who just donít get it. Maybe
that was the reason in the first place, to be able to say "I did
it and you didnít and youíll never understand why, so back off, whitebread."
Iím home again, slumped back into the quicksand of everyday life, the
memory of this odyssey of idiocy puts a grin on my face and a spring
in my step. I donít regret it for a second.
calling The Booth, still checking in. Itís still busy. But one day,
probably late one night, Iíll call and itís going to ring. And when
The Booth, she is gone.
Bell and the National Parks Service have dismantled and removed The
Booth, citing increased traffic through the area and its impact on the
environment. That's their story and they're sticking to it. Whatever
the reason, The Booth is but a memory now.
late night calls. No more impromptu treks into the bush. No more amateur
phone repairmen. The desert is silent once again.